


The Subtle Sting

by Gelid_illuminant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Fluff, Guilt, M/M, No Smut, No friends no beta read, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelid_illuminant/pseuds/Gelid_illuminant
Summary: Aziraphale realises that he nearly killed the Antichrist. Guilt ensues.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 21





	The Subtle Sting

Aziraphale loved books. They sustained him throughout his long life – once they had been invented. There were always more books, but there wasn’t always more contact with Crowley. And just as books sustained him, Crowley sustained him. But centuries would go past without them seeing each other. Aziraphale figured that this was for the best, however, because any more, and how could he hope to hold the lid on his feelings? Ever since 1941, he’d known. He realised that he’d felt this way for a lot longer than that, but 1941 was when he knew. When Crowley had nonchalantly saved his books. Acted like it was nothing, like he’d done nothing special. When he came onto consecrated ground to save Aziraphale, that’s when he knew that he was in love with Crowley. And that Crowley, just maybe, was in love with him. Why else would he have done such a thing?

In 1967, Aziraphale actually dared to hint at their relationship. Crowley did go too fast for him. Saving him like that, and now, offering to spend more time together? It was too much, Aziraphale couldn’t take it. Maybe…maybe one day, they could find a way to be together. But right now it was impossible. Heaven and Hell would destroy them both.

And then the End of the World came, and suddenly they were spending more time together. They would spend each day as godfathers to little Warlock, and afterwards, they would drink together. It was agony not to say anything. Agony not to give in to the temptation to stare at Crowley from across the room. Aziraphale briefly wondered if the temptation to do so came from Crowley’s demonic powers, but quickly dismissed the thought. Crowley wouldn’t do that to him, not ever. Instead he would think about the impending task they had to carry out, saving the world. The monumental duty that loomed before them. They would do it, he had faith that they would do it. He had faith in the Ineffable Plan, and believed this to be part of it. He couldn’t convince Crowley, though.

After the Apocalypse didn’t happen, Aziraphale assumed that everything would finally go back to normal. Back to decades without seeing Crowley. But it didn’t. They finally dined at the Ritz, and then, it seemed, Crowley still wanted more time with Aziraphale. So he came back to the bookshop for a nightcap. Aziraphale opened a bottle of wine and poured out two glasses, right to the brim. There was no point in denying that they were going to get hopelessly drunk. Their fingers brushed for a moment as Aziraphale handed a glass to Crowley. It was enough to send fiery trails of longing down his spine. He carefully sat down on a straight-backed chair, far away from Crowley, and began nursing his own glass. He thought about the past eleven years. The time they had spent with Warlock, the time they had spent together. Crowley’s surprising admission to Aziraphale that he sometimes enjoyed presenting as female. Crowley trusted him that that information. It was overwhelming, to be trusted.

A few hours into their drinking session, they were talking about Death and how much humans feared him. Aziraphale found himself thinking about something that he’d been ignoring for more than twenty-four hours now. Something that, at the back of his mind, was gnawing away.

“I almost killed him,” Aziraphale whispered, stunned at his own words. “I would have killed him. If not for that Madame Tracy.”  
“Also,” Crowley broke in. “I have to say, ‘dear lady’ is not a very PC term, angel.” Aziraphale ignored this and went on. “I’m being serious, Crowley! I could have killed a child. An innocent child.” They lapsed into silence, both of them weighing up the implications. Crowley was the first to speak. “But you didn’t kill him, did you? So what’s the point in worrying? You’re bringing down my buzz.” His tone was infuriatingly casual. Aziraphale shook his head. “I need to be better than this. It’s not good enough. How can I trust myself again? How can I say I’m the nice one when I’ve gone and done something like that?”

Crowley looked across at Aziraphale, what could be seen of his expression seemed curious. “You fought in the war in Heaven, didn’t you?” He asked. Crowley never talked about that era! Aziraphale nodded, slowly. “I did…but I didn’t kill or fatally harm anyone. They were all just…discorporated, so it didn’t count…” His voice was hoarse and bleak. Crowley went on, “You were made Angel of the Eastern Gate for a reason, weren’t you? Because you’re powerful. Because, you can fight and win. That’s not a bad thing, surely?” He sipped at his wine as if he’d said nothing important. Aziraphale remembered to breathe. “My…my new absence of faith in Heaven is changing everything that used to be positive into a negative, Crowley. Everything is different. I…I don’t believe in righteous violence anymore.”

“But you still believe in God, right? I mean, you haven’t Fallen.” Crowley demanded. Aziraphale nodded. “Of course I do! But She’s not the one…She didn’t tell me to do those things. She didn’t make me fight in Heaven. She didn’t tell me to kill that boy! It was all me. Don’t you see, Crowley? All of it, was just me, not being good enough. Fighting, discorporating demons. Giving away that flaming sword. Saying those lies to you at the bandstand. Nearly killing Adam…that was all me, not being good enough. I have never been good enough. I…you should probably go…” Crowley ignored him. “Let’s talk about the bandstand, Aziraphale. Those things you said. You said they were lies?” Crowley sounded nervous. Aziraphale took a deep breath.

“Yes, they were all lies, Crowley. I don’t believe those things anymore. I…I never really did at all. You were right. We’re on our own side. I think we have been for a long time. I just wanted to deny it because I was afraid…” Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. But Crowley, as ever, was not afraid to speak his mind. “Afraid of what? Falling?”  
“…Yes. Afraid of that.”  
“You won’t Fall, angel. You’re too…” Crowley waved his hands vaguely, slopping wine over the side of his glass and onto his jacket. Aziraphale miracled it away. “I’m too what?”  
“Too…ethereal.” Crowley finished weakly. Aziraphale smiled wryly. “I don’t think I am. Not anymore. Heaven should kick me out.”  
“I think…what counts, is your faith in God.”

After that, they sat and drank in silence. Aziraphale knew he was so drunk that he would do something stupid soon, so he politely asked Crowley to leave, so he could sleep. Once Crowley had gone, Aziraphale broke down. He wept into his hands. He prayed, for hours he prayed and he prayed. He begged for relief from his overpowering guilt, from his shame. He begged for forgiveness. How could he know if he was forgiven? How could he be sure of anything, ever again? His own judgement was worthless. He had intended, fully intended to kill someone. A child, innocent and kind. The child that would save the world just moments later. He could have destroyed everything. He could have ruined the Ineffable Plan all by himself. If he had succeeded…would he have Fallen? Eventually, Aziraphale hobbled up the stairs the the little apartment over the shop. He crawled into his dusty old bed and lay there, cold from sweat and tears, tired from sobbing. He slept, and dreamt of his own Fall. 

**

Plunging down through space. For league after league. Fathoms. Feathers flying, friction building. Finally, into pain. Pure, unadulterated agony. The smell of burning feathers and flesh. The stench of burning sulphur. Clinging to his skin as he dragged himself onto the black, stony shore. Aching, never-ending, complete. Wings burned black. But the worst part, by the furthest degree, was the absence of Her love. That little ball of pure, perfect love was ripped out of him forever. It was like an empty space, carved out of his very soul. It was worse than if his heart lay bleeding on the sharp rocks before him. He wept and screamed and cursed at God, for abandoning him. For punishing him. He knew he deserved it.

Aziraphale woke in a cold sweat in his bed. His wings were spread out, cramped in the small room. They were white. Blessedly white, not burned into blackness by sulphur. He let out a quiet cry of relief. He hadn’t Fallen. He wasn’t a demon. He was still himself. Still had a right to the name, Aziraphale. Was that…how it felt? Or was it worse, in real life? Was that what had happened to Crowley? Aziraphale couldn’t imagine him deserving that. Couldn’t imagine his kind, loving demon doing anything to earn a fate so terrible. He had done nothing like as bad as what Aziraphale had done. He hadn’t killed anyone. He hadn’t hurt anyone. Not as far as Aziraphale knew, anyway. He certainly wasn’t going to ask. He miracled away the cold sweat, made the sheets tidy, and went to forget his troubles in a cup of cocoa.

**

A week passed. Aziraphale lost himself in his books. He reread Dombey and Son. He redid his filing system. He tried to reread Shakespeare’s sonnets, but it made him think about Crowley. Crowley, who sauntered into the bookshop with a bottle of wine, as if their last conversation had never happened. As if Aziraphale hadn’t flat out rejected him at the bandstand, and again outside his shop. “Want to go have lunch in the park? I have a picnic basket in the car.”  
“I…um, alright.” Aziraphale wanted to say, ‘why would you want to have lunch with me?’, ‘did it really feel that bad when you Fell?’. But he said nothing. Merely put on his coat and settled into the Bentley. Crowley drove – much too fast – through the streets of Soho and to St. James Park. They found their usual bench, and Aziraphale tried to seem eager as he opened the basket of food.

“Are you still thinking about that?” Crowley asked seriously. Aziraphale bit his lip. “I, well, I don’t know what you mean.”  
“About the Antichrist. Nearly killing him. You should just let it go. It happened in the past and the past is over, now, you can move on.” Said Crowley, opening a bottle of wine. Was that what Crowley wanted to do? Forget everything that had happened? Forget how dreadfully Aziraphale had treated him? “But Crowley, how can I move on, knowing what could have happened? What I did? I was going to murder-”  
“You also worked out where he was, you know. That’s something.” Crowley put in. “But we didn’t really do anything, did we?” Aziraphale countered. He fiddled anxiously with the ring on his little finger. 

Crowley released a heavy sigh of impatience. “You really need to get over this. It didn’t happen. And you’re starting to sound like a broken record. I don’t need to hang around with a misery guts.” He laid his arm across the back of the bench. Aziraphale sat up even straighter than he already had been. So why spend time with me at all? “S-so leave, then. I don’t mind. We never spend this much time together anyway.” He stammered. He didn’t want Crowley to leave, but he did, because this was too much. He could feel his resolve slipping. He wanted to lean in against Crowley, hide his face in his chest and blot out the world. Just for a little while. Forget his nightmare, forget what he had done. What might have happened. “I don’t want to leave again, angel. I won’t.” Crowley said simply. There was a note of sorrow in his voice. Aziraphale felt his heart pounding. This was getting dangerous. 

Aziraphale busied himself with a Cornish pasty so he didn’t have to speak. Crowley seemed to be watching him. Why would he be watching him? Aziraphale gradually calmed down when Crowley didn’t say anything more. He finished the pasty, and felt he just had to say something to break the uncomfortable silence. “I must apologise to you, Crowley. For what I said at the bandstand. I didn’t mean any of it, and I am truly sorry. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, although I know I don’t dese-”  
“Shut up, angel.” And that was that. They sat in that uncomfortable silence for an entire hour, before Aziraphale could stand it no more and announced that he would walk home.

**

Back in the bookshop, alone at last, Aziraphale went down on his knees and prayed again. He prayed that he hadn’t destroyed his relationship with Crowley. He prayed that – if he had – that Crowley would forgive him one day. He knew it was no use. He couldn’t force Crowley to forgive him. He didn’t know why he bothered. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven for what he had said, for what he had done. He had lost his right to that mercy. I’m an angel, and you’re a demon, we have nothing in common. Why had he said that? Because of his misplaced faith in Heaven. His…conditioning. He didn’t believe that. Never really had. Crowley was far kinder, had far more good in him than any of the angels Aziraphale knew. Sure, he denied it every time, but he was a truly good soul. 

And Aziraphale just kept pushing him away, again and again. He’d made him leave the bookshop the other day, left him in the park today. All because Aziraphale was too weak to hold down his feelings. Too weak not to break down in tears. He hadn’t cried for six thousand years, until that night. And now he was nearly crying again. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to move on? How could he forgive himself for nearly killing a child?! He may be the Antichrist, but he was still just a child. He hadn’t done anything wrong. What had possessed Aziraphale to do it? No, he had possessed someone. An entirely non-angelic thing to do. Great, now he had more guilt. 

**

Two weeks went by, and Aziraphale couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching misery of his situation. He prayed, a lot, and still received no answer. He didn’t dare call upon the Metatron in search of an answer, though, not now. What if he was angry at Aziraphale? What if he worked out that he’d lied to Heaven, and it was really Crowley who had gone through the Hellfire? The memory of being in Crowley’s body was a welcome distraction. Looking back at his own body, suddenly under the command of a demon, had been utterly bizarre. Being in command of the body of the one he…the one he loved…having the power to do whatever he wanted with it, but not even wanting to do anything untoward. It had been terrifying. 

Presently, there was a knock on the front door. Aziraphale peered out of the windows to see that it was Crowley, of course with a bottle of wine, and a cardboard box. Aziraphale hadn’t expected him back so soon, after their…had it been a fight? It had certainly been uncomfortable, whatever it had been. Aziraphale clicked his fingers to open the door and let him in. “Lunch?” Crowley offered with a smile. Aziraphale gave a forced smile in return, his mind still on the body swap. He gave Crowley what he thought was a subtle once-over, recalling how it felt to be in that positively svelte body. Long, graceful limbs. The world dark behind glasses. Crowley looked at him, wonderingly. “What, angel? Something on my shirt?” He inspected it closely. “Nothing, Crowley, I was miles away, sorry. Lunch sounds delightful.”

Crowley placed the box on the coffee table and opened it to reveal sandwiches from Aziraphale’s favourite deli. He miracled up some wine glasses and poured out the blood-red liquid. Aziraphale felt that he would truly like to get a bit drunk right now, to forget. But what if it made him loose-lipped? What if he made another stupid mistake? He bit into a sandwich and chewed thoughtfully, for once not really tasting the food. He watched Crowley as he sat down on the couch and arranged his limbs in a comfortable fashion. He was saying something. Aziraphale fought to pay attention. “So I thought we could go see a movie tomorrow night. They’re showing Who Framed Roger Rabbit at the outdoor cinema. Might be fun. We could have a picnic.”

“Yes, that sounds lovely…” Aziraphale answered, not really registering what he was agreeing to. He wasn’t much of a one for films, but if Crowley liked them, they couldn’t be all bad. “I’ll make up a hamper.” They passed the rest of the afternoon in a drunken haze, until finally it was getting dark and Crowley sobered up, readying to leave. “See you tomorrow at seven, angel. I’ll pick you up.”  
“Whuzz?”  
“You know, for the movie?” Crowley reminded him with a sigh. Aziraphale gripped his empty glass tighter. “Oh, yes, of course. The motion picture thing. Outside, is it? I’ll make up a hamper.”  
“You already said that, angel.”  
“Oh.” Aziraphale hadn’t meant to get drunk, but he was glad he had. Looking at Crowley when he was drunk was wonderful. It let him think about all the things he wanted to do. The things that were safely locked away when he was sober.

When Crowley was gone, Aziraphale let himself fall into a world of fantasy. He thought about Crowley, holding his hand. Leaning in to touch his face. Kissing him. Hands running through his hair and down until, oh. Until. Yes, that was nice. So very-  
You nearly killed a child. You don’t deserve Crowley. He’ll never want you because of what you did. What you are. Now he was in tears.

Aziraphale sobered up after that, no longer allowing himself to indulge in fantasies. Instead, he spent the rest of the night reading Robin Hood stories. He’d met Robin Hood, and guided him towards charity rather than poaching. That had been a good move. One of very few good moves, it would seem.

**

Crowley was waiting outside when Aziraphale left the bookshop, picnic hamper in hand. He’d spent the day cooking treats for them, determined to make the evening a happy one. He had decided not to bring up anything depressing, like nearly becoming a murderer. Aziraphale knew he had to stop pushing Crowley away, had to stop making him deal with Aziraphale’s weakness. It wasn’t fair on him – he’d done nothing wrong. So, tonight was going to be good. Even if the movie was awful, which it probably would be. He climbed into the passenger seat when Crowley held the door open for him. He didn’t usually do that. Aziraphale payed it no mind and buckled up. He smiled at Crowley when he got into the car. He was ready to make this work.

They spread out their picnic blanket on the grass and settled in. Aziraphale sat neatly, firmly in place without his limbs flying all over the place like Crowley. He truly admired the way Crowley could stretch out and be comfortable anywhere. Aziraphale wondered if it was the snake in him that allowed him to do this, or if he was just trying to look cool. The movie started with a silly little cartoon, so Aziraphale took his time in setting out the food. The sun was setting, the air was pleasantly warm, and he was here with Crowley. Crowley. Crowley, who kept coming back for him after he made mistakes. Crowley who really, truly cared about him. After just one glass of wine, Aziraphale found himself watching the demon, rather than the film. It was much more interesting than some cartoon, to see him raise a glass of wine to his lips. See the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

“Why are you staring at me?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I said, why are you staring at me?” Crowley asked with a small, but wicked smile. “Admiring the view?” He chuckled in a devilish way. Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush and looked away hurriedly. “I-I wasn’t staring at you! I was just, for a moment…”  
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. We’re friends.” Crowley said simply, turning his attention back to his wine. Aziraphale took deep breaths to steady himself, hoping Crowley wouldn’t notice how shaken he was. He had to…what was the phrase? Get it together. He couldn’t very well start gazing in adoration at Crowley after just one glass of wine. But it was hard to resist. Temptation, again. But Aziraphale knew it wasn’t Crowley’s fault that he was so good to look at.

A little ways into the film, Aziraphale finally noticed the point of it all. The cartoons were interacting with the people. He mentioned this to Crowley, who brushed it off as old news. Aziraphale started to actually pay attention. He didn’t much fancy the script, but the animation was admittedly good. But he couldn’t stop mentioning things he noticed to Crowley, who eventually got sick of it all. “Angel, just shut up and watch the film.” He’d done it again. Spoiled the evening. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. He was spiralling, he knew. He’d read about spiralling, and thought it was only a human thing. Turned out, angels could spiral too. He briefly thought about saying this to Crowley, but knew it would be unwelcome.

At one point during the film, they both reached for the wine bottle at once and their hands bumped clumsily. Aziraphale stumbled over his apologies as heat suffused him. Crowley didn’t seem to care, and ignored him, turning back to the film. Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about the contact for the rest of the night. He sat in silence, forcing himself not the look at Crowley, and just tried to enjoy their closeness on the picnic blanket. The stars began to come out. The moon was high. It was, by all accounts, a magical evening. 

**

All too soon the film was over and they had to go. Aziraphale and Crowley packed up the picnic things manually, bumping their heads together at one point. “I’m ever so sorry! I mean, I do apologise! Not my intention at all!” Once again, Crowley brushed off the accidental contact as nothing and continued with the task at hand. Aziraphale didn’t know how he could be so damnably casual. Once the hamper was packed, they went back to the Bentley. Aziraphale felt an almost irresistible urge to thread his arm around Crowley’s, but somehow, he resisted. You don’t deserve to touch him. Back at the car, Crowley once again held the door open for Aziraphale, who got in, a little uncomfortable with the gesture. “You really needn’t bother, Crowley…”  
“I want to.”

Back at the bookshop, Crowley stopped the car and got out. Aziraphale hopped out as well, more than a little confused. Why was Crowley getting out? Did he want to come in? “So, um, do you want a drink?”  
“Sure, if you don’t mind.” This was bad. Aziraphale would get drunk and slip up again, ruin their evening. But he couldn’t just…not be polite. He held the door open for Crowley, a reflection of his earlier gestures with the car. Crowley strolled in and settled on a couch as if he lived here. The thought of that sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. He followed the demon in and opened a bottle of whiskey. Mixing drinks was fine, for supernatural beings.

They got drunk. Excessively drunk. Another bottle of whiskey was opened. Aziraphale got peckish and dove back into the hamper while Crowley laughed at him. “That body of yours is terribly greedy, innit?”  
“You’re slu-shlur- not talking right, Crowley, be quiet.” Aziraphale admonished. “Well you’re talking like a drunkard, angel.” Crowley retorted. Aziraphale sighed sadly. “At this point, I think it’s fair to admit that both of us are drunk-drunkards, my dear.” Crowley laughed at that, and Aziraphale laughed with him. Then suddenly he was crying. Now, great, heaving sobs racked his body. Here we go again, you just can’t cope, can you? Fool.

Aziraphale figured he’d have to stop drinking if he was going to get like this every time. Crowley wouldn’t want to be around him if he kept breaking down. “I-I’m sorry!” He cried. “I shouldn’t be…shouldn’t be doing this! I’ve ruined everything! I’m just a stupid, fat old failure and I can’t…I can’t do anything…” There was a strange noise, like leaves scraping over pavement when the wind blew hard. Aziraphale realised with a jolt that it was Crowley, shushing him. Then, he felt Crowley’s arm around his shoulder. Aziraphale held stock still, not daring to lean into the touch. He tried desperately to breathe normally, but that just seemed to make it worse. “Shhh, breath slowly, okay? Nice and slow now. It’s okay. You’re not a failure, angel, you’re not. You helped save the entire world, remember?”

“I didn’t…didn’t do anything, not really. It was those children, a-and that woman and her boyfriend…” Aziraphale hated the way his voice sounded, blubbering. Hated the tears that streamed down his face. He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose loudly. Surely Crowley would be disgusted and move away. But he didn’t. He stayed right where he was, and his other hand came up to stroke Aziraphale’s hair. “You helped, anyway. That’s what I know to be true. You worked hard at it. And, you risked Falling in order to save the world! You’ve been so brave, and so strong.” His voice was agonisingly gentle. Aziraphale knew he didn’t deserve that tenderness. “I almost murdered a child, and innocent child!” His sobs redoubled, his whole body shaking. Crowley just held him and hushed him, for a long time.

Finally, Crowley spoke. “If you need to feel guilty about it, then…feel guilty about it. I’ll stay with you. You’re still my best friend.” His words weren’t much of a comfort. Best friends, that wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted. But he kept silent. Crowley continued, “You can…practice being better. And it’s not like you’re going to be in another situation like that any time soon, right? So you don’t have to worry!” Aziraphale could hear the smile in his words, but dared not look up and see it for himself. You don’t deserve him smiling at you. “I don’t know how I can be better, Crowley! I can’t just…keep doing good deeds, and make it up to God! Let alone to Adam! It doesn’t work that way! How can I make it stop?”  
“Just be who you really are, angel. Nice, and kind, and brave. Stubborn, yes. A bastard, yes. But never cruel. Never.”

Aziraphale sobbed into his handkerchief at Crowley’s words. Did he really believe that, or was he just trying to get Aziraphale to stop crying? Surely he didn’t believe it. “I-I-I’m not those things at all…”  
“I think you are. Don’t you trust me?” Crowley said, patting his hair. Aziraphale had to laugh, just a bit. “I trust you, Crowley…” With my life. With my very heart. “Then believe me when I say these things about you. Okay?”  
“But at the bandstan-”  
“Shut up about the bandstand, alright? I get it, you were scared. I was scared too. That’s why I asked you to elope with me.” Crowley replied. Elope? Like…like a couple? “I forgive you, okay, angel?”

At that, Aziraphale started crying again, and finally gave in to the urge to lean against Crowley. He clung to the demon’s shirt, holding tight, not letting go for a long time. Until finally his tears died down, from sheer exhaustion more than anything else. Crowley tried to pick Aziraphale up, failed, and just helped him to his feet instead. He helped support Aziraphale’s weight and lead him upstairs the the little apartment above the shop. “Let’s get you to bed. Would you like that?” He asked gently. Aziraphale could do nothing but nod in reply. He pointed to indicate the door to his bedroom, and let Crowley lead him there. Once inside, Crowley eased Aziraphale onto the old, but comfortable bed. Crowley snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale was in cozy tartan pyjamas. “There we go. More comfortable now?”

Crowley stayed, sitting on the edge of the bed as Aziraphale got under the covers and rested his head on the pillow. “I’m sorry, Crowley…I’m such a mess…” He murmured. Crowley shook his head, and tucked the blankets up. “No, don’t be silly. We’re friends. It’s okay to show me this. I’m glad you trust me.” Crowley gave a warm, endearing smile. He took off his sunglasses. Aziraphale spent a moment allowing himself the pleasure of gazing into Crowley’s big yellow eyes, before turning away so he wouldn’t blush. There was only so much an angel could take. “Thank you, Crowley…for being my…friend. My best friend.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Deep and slow. Deep and slow. In and out. In…and out. He felt Crowley’s warm hand on his shoulder. This was okay. This was…right. He let the haze of the alcohol overcome his mind, and was soon drifting away.

**

Sunlight was streaming in through the gap in the curtains by the time Aziraphale awoke. His head hurt, and he felt groggy, but he dismissed it with a miracle. Then he remembered the previous night. What he’d done. And Crowley had just held him, like he was something to be cherished. A warm glow settled in Aziraphale’s heart, along with a vice grip of fear and humiliation. He had openly wept in front of the love of his life! What must Crowley think of him? Weak, foolish. But Crowley had said those things…that he was brave, kind…did he truly mean it? How could he think that about this wreck of a being? This bloodthirsty, treacherous…no, can’t think like that. Won’t think like that. If he was good enough for Crowley then, then he could be good enough for himself.

It was already eleven, so Aziraphale went out to a nearby café for brunch. He had Belgian waffles. He went through the entire meal without once thinking about the Antichrist. Back at the shop he settled in with a first edition copy of Reynard the Fox and a cup of cocoa. He lost himself in the tales of the wily creature. There was a knock at the door. Aziraphale looked up and realised it was dark outside. He placed the book aside lovingly and went to answer the door. Crowley stood there, leaning against the doorframe, the picture of debonair grace. “Wanna go out for dinner? My treat. Get your coat, it’s nippy.” The warm glow in Aziraphale’s heart swelled. He put on his coat and locked up the shop with a wave of his hand. “Where are we going?”  
“Nice little Indian joint, just a few blocks away. Come on.” Crowley set off at an easy pace.

Over the samosas, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley was looking at him, or seemed to be. His sunglasses made it hard to tell. “So,” He was saying. “About last night…”  
“I do apologise, my good fellow. I was very drunk, and out of sorts, and I let it come through. I am ever so sorry.” Aziraphale answered. Crowley sighed, exasperated. “No, angel, I’m saying that you don’t have to apologise. It’s alright.” His hand reached across the table, coming to rest alongside Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale blushed and picked up a samosa for something to do. “Nevertheless, it was terribly improper of me-”  
“Bullshit. You can’t hold all that crap in! It’s okay to talk about it.” Why was Crowley so infuriatingly kind all of a sudden? “I wouldn’t think a demon would want to discus-”  
“Shut up, before you say something you regret.” That was more like his usual attitude.

By the time that Aziraphale was sipping on a mango lassi, Crowley was quite tipsy. This was at least the excuse Aziraphale used for him when Crowley took his hand. Aziraphale turned bright red but didn’t pull his hand away. It was too nice. It made him feel warm. All over. He finished his lassi as slowly as he could. Crowley waved over a waiter, taking his hand away so he could get money out of his sleek black wallet. Then they went out onto the dark, cold street. There were still plenty of people around – it was Soho after all – so Aziraphale resisted the urge to take Crowley’s hand again. The crowd didn’t stop Crowley, however, and he entwined their fingers. He led Aziraphale – who had a stupid grin on his face - back to the shop like this. 

Once at the shop, Crowley broke the contact and draped himself on a couch. Aziraphale poured some wine and purposefully made sure that their fingers brushed when he handed Crowley his glass. Crowley grinned fiendishly, making Aziraphale blush. Aziraphale sat on an armchair, closer to Crowley usual. They sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, until Crowley mentioned the topic of his houseplants, and Aziraphale launched into a spiel about floriography, which he had learned from a Victorian book. They talked at length, until they ran out of things to say and lapsed into silence once more. Crowley was looking at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was decidedly not looking at Crowley. 

This went on for some time, until Crowley spoke. “You do know you’re my best friend, don’t you, Aziraphale?”  
“I-I know…” His stomach twisted into a knot. Why did they have to have this conversation? “Well, wouldn’t it be sensible for us to spend more time together from now on? I mean, not leaving each other along for decades or centuries at a time?” There was a pleading note in Crowley’s voice. Aziraphale stammered, “I-I think that could be fe-feasible.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat. “Feasible? I didn’t know my company was so unpleasant.” Crowley was teasing, Aziraphale knew, but he protested anyway. “Don’t be silly. You know I enjoy being with you.” Why had he said it like that? Like they were together? Crowley laughed openly. “You could try acting like it. Stop being so flustered all the time.”

“I’m not…I’m not always flustered, I’m just-” He was interrupted by Crowley’s laughter. “I’m only teasing you, angel! Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Then, abruptly, Crowley’s hand was on his, gently playing with his fingers. Aziraphale closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths. Why did Crowley keep touching him? Was it in an effort to comfort him, because of last night? “Crowley, I’m alright, really. I’m…putting it all behind me. You don’t have to…”  
“Touch you…?” He moved his hand away. “Sorry.” He said, strangely sad. Did he just want to hold his hand? Was that all it was? Aziraphale had to fix this. “You can, if that’s what you want…”  
“Alright…” Crowley took his hand again, timidly. It was so nice, just sitting like this, hands touching, warm and soft. 

About an hour went by, in which they talked about nothing in particular. Holding hands all the while. Then, Crowley got to his feet, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand. He stretched luxuriously. “Well, I’m off. It’s been great. I’ll see you next week?” Did they have to wait that long to do this again? “Certainly, my good fellow. We could go for a walk, perhaps.” How could Aziraphale go that long without Crowley? He was getting so used to having him around. He could…well, he could read to pass the time, he supposed. Crowley flashed him a warm smile. “Sounds good to me. St. James Park, after lunch, Saturday?” That was a whole nine days away! “Saturday. I shall see you then!” Aziraphale forced a smile in return, and led Crowley to the door. He held it open for him. But Crowley didn’t leave. He leaned in and hugged Aziraphale. It was a full three seconds before he pulled away – the theoretical perfect length for a hug. 

“I-I-I’ll see you, then…Go-goodnight, Crowley!” Aziraphale stuttered. He was dreadfully confused. Why would Crowley be holding his hand, and hugging him for so long, and making Aziraphale feel things. Crowley chuckled and smiled. “Saturday, angel. Don’t forget. Our usual bench.” And with that, he was gone. Leaving Aziraphale in the lurch. He locked up the shop and retreated to his favourite reading nook. What was Crowley doing, acting all…touchy-feely? Was it just to distract him from the guilt? No, he’d denied that. Crowley wouldn’t lie, would he, even to spare Aziraphale’s feelings? Aziraphale thought about the possibility of Crowley…feeling the same way as he did. No, that was impossible. He was a demon, Aziraphale was an angel. That sort of thing just didn’t happen. But, if a demon and an angel could be best friends…then…why not…lovers?

**

The nine days between meetings felt like nine years. Aziraphale knew he was being ridiculous, knew that in the past he’d gone centuries without seeing Crowley. But he couldn’t deny it – he wanted to see him again, badly. Needed to see him again. Being around Crowley made the guilt go away. He knew now that he should confess his feelings. But how? During the walk? No, not in public, that would be bad. He’d ask Crowley back to the shop, yes, and tell him there. That was a good plan. He practiced in front of the long mirror in the bedroom. “Crowley, my good fellow, I must tell you something. The thing is, you see…I’m frightfully in love with you, don’t you know?” No, that wasn’t any good at all!

Aziraphale arrived early to the meeting in the park. He’d bolted his lunch, hardly tasting it, all too eager for this…date…? Dare he call it that? No, of course not. That would be too much. Maybe he shouldn’t even tell Crowley that-  
“Angel, hey!” Crowley was smiling that sweet, friendly smile of his as he walked over. “You already look flustered. Did something happen?”  
“Oh, no, old boy. I’m tip-top!” Aziraphale blurted out, making Crowley laugh. “Shall we walk?” He said, and enlaced their fingers together. Aziraphale flushed dark red, nodding furiously. So, Crowley was still up for touching him. That was good news. They looked like couple as they walked. All thoughts of nearly killing the Antichrist were driven from Aziraphale’s head by the sheer mind-numbing sensation of Crowley’s hand in his. For awhile, at least.

Crowley was saying something about cars but Aziraphale wasn’t really listening. He was tuned into the conversation in his head. How do I tell him? God, help me, how do I tell him? Does he even…does he even feel the same? He can’t, look at him, he’s perfect. No one as beautiful as him would want to be with a selfish old lush like me. But he was holding his hand, like they were already an item. Aziraphale was so confused. Now, Crowley was talking about the ducks on the nearby water, about how people really oughtn’t feed them. Aziraphale still wasn’t listening. Oh, Crowley, why are you doing this to me? My heart can’t take it. They walked for a long time, holding hands, Crowley talking and Aziraphale not listening. Eventually, as he gradually got used to the hand-holding, his thoughts turned back to the same old thing.

The guilt. Why did he have to feel it, now, of all times? When Crowley was talking so animatedly. It was always there, he had to admit. At the back of his mind, gnawing away like a rat in the dark. He’d nearly…he would have done it. I would have done it. “Aziraphale, why have you stopped walking?” Crowley was asking. Aziraphale let go of his hand and put it to his brow instead. “I-I just need to sit down for a moment…” Crowley surreptitiously miracled up a new bench for Aziraphale to sit on. As Aziraphale sat, he made a mental note to thank Crowley later, when he could speak again. Crowley sat beside him, looking concerned. “Is this about…that again?” He didn’t sound angry, just sad.

“Of course it is…I…I can’t think about anything else. Not even…not even about you…” Aziraphale bit his lip, feeling foolish. He’d very nearly given away his feelings! Crowley looked confused and tired. “I wish you could move on, angel. I…know it’s hard. Not to feel guilty about things like this.” Had Crowley done something similar? “It’s never been as bad as this, not for me. But I get it, I do. Believe me, I felt awful when the M25 burst into flames and all those people were burned alive. But they were all restored! Just like Adam, they’re not dead. Don’t forget that aspect of this, Aziraphale. He’s alive. I totally get it if you can’t forget, but-”  
“But you didn’t intend to kill anyone, Crowley! I did! What I did was utterly reprehensible!” Aziraphale felt his eyes stinging. His voice was strained and high.

Crowley took his hands and held them, held them to his lips. He kissed his knuckles, so tenderly. “Let’s go back to the shop, Aziraphale. We should talk about this in private, yeah?”  
“Ye-yes…I agree…” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley snapped his fingers and they were back in the shop. He still held Aziraphale’s hands to his mouth. Aziraphale finally registered this and felt his skin go hot and red. “Crowley…”  
“I want you to know, angel, that whatever you may or may not have done…it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. You’re my best friend. Believe it or not. You are the single most important person in my life. How could you not be? We’ve been together for six thousand years…” What was he talking about? Crowley was talking like…oh.

“Crowley, I…I don’t know what to say…”  
“These past few weeks since Armageddon have been amazing. I get to spend real time with you, for the first time. And all you can do is feel bad about yourself. It’s not fair, angel! You should be able to feel good, too! We saved the world together! We survived the wrath of Heaven and Hell together! I guess what I’m saying is…we could be together if you could just think about something other than your guilt!” Crowley was nearly shouting now, desperation in his voice. His hands were shaking. Aziraphale gulped. “You…you can’t handle me like this…”  
“That’s not what I said!”  
“It’s what you meant. I know that, Crowley. And I know that you deserve better than me.”

“That’s not true! I…I lo…I mean, I…” Crowley couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even say it. Aziraphale pushed his hands away and stood up. “You don’t have to bother. You should go. Leave me be. I don’t deserve to be with you. I’m no better than a murderer.” He turned away so that Crowley wouldn’t see the tears silently falling down his face. He heard Crowley stand up behind him. “Aziraphale, would you shut up about that for one second and let me tell you!?” Crowley’s voice was strangled. Maybe he was crying, too. Aziraphale fought to control his voice. His fists were clenched. “You can’t bring yourself to do it, can you? Because of what I am. You and I, we’re too different. You’re a kind demon, and I’m a murderous angel. I don’t deserve you.”  
“Aziraphale, first of all, I’m not kind. More importantly, you’re not murd-”  
“Go. Please.”

So Crowley left, sniffling as he went. It broke Aziraphale’s heart to hear his demon crying. But there was nothing he could do about it. It was too late. The damage was done. Crowley wouldn’t come back this time. Too late to go and get him. Too late to repair things. Aziraphale really was a fool. He’d given up on the chance of a lifetime, the chance to love Crowley the way he had wanted to for so long now. Stupid, nasty, unworthy. He hadn’t even thanked him for the bench miracle. He started to pace, up and down the bookshop floor. What would he do now? Go back to being alone every day. Go back to losing himself in literature all day and all night long. Go back to purposelessness. He could…he could perform more miracles. He may not be employed by Heaven anymore, but could still do good deeds. Yes, that’s what he could do. That would distract him.

And that’s when he broke down. He fell to his knees and sobbed openly. Aziraphale truly, utterly did not deserve the love that Crowley had been desperately trying to profess. He had pushed him away again. For good, this time, he was sure. He’d broken the heart of the demon he loved. The demon he loved more than his own life. He was genuinely a terrible, repugnant person. He wanted to hope that Crowley would move on, get on with his life, but his deep selfishness won out and made him want Crowley to be as grief-stricken as he was. How could he ever be good enough to love Crowley? He couldn’t, it was as simple as that. He couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. God forbid he break down and call him back. He just couldn’t put Crowley through more pain. Even he wasn’t that cruel, surely?

**

Days passed with Aziraphale wallowing in self-pity. Days turned to weeks and his self-loathing didn’t decrease, but he did allow himself to indulge in distraction, like reading books or going for walks. It was a month before he allowed himself the treat of something to eat. He popped over the Channel to have some really good crepes. It was hedonistic, he knew, but he had stop denying himself simple pleasures at some point if he was ever going to move on from Crowley. Crowley. Who he had thrown out like so much rubbish, who he had broken the heart of, who he had dismissed as if he didn’t matter at all. Worthless, stupid, murde-  
No. Don’t think like that. Bad. Bad idea. Just enjoy the bloody crepes.

Aziraphale wandered aimlessly through the streets of Paris. He stared into shop windows, at his own reflection. What must the people in France think of him. This old fuddy-duddy, in his ridiculous old clothes. His waistcoat, his pocket-watch. It was a mercy he no longer wore a hat. He truly was-  
No. Don’t think about that. Just go home.   
He took the long way home, through the Channel Tunnel, not feeling the energy to use such a big miracle. Back in London he spent a few hours reading The Turn of the Screw. Some customers came in and he quickly had them hurrying away at his unabashed rudeness. That made him feel worse. Stupid. Cruel. You deserve to Fall. 

You deserve to Fall. You deserve to Fall for what you’ve done. What you are. He thought about Falling a lot these days. He thought about how much he deserved to Fall. He thought about his nightmare, and thought about how much worse it would be in real life. He thought about turning his back on God. That was the only reason he didn’t Fall, because he couldn’t bring himself to do that. To cast God out of his heart as well as Crowle-  
No. Don’t think about him.  
Don’t ever think about him agai-

There was a knock on the door. 

Aziraphale opened the door carelessly, expecting more unwanted customers. But it was Crowley. He was here. Why was he here? He looked miserable and afraid. “Crowley? Why…what are you doing here?” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley pushed past him into the shop. Aziraphale turned to face him. Crowley took his glasses off. His eyes were wide and shining with tears. “I can’t take it any more, Aziraphale. I can’t help it. I’m so sorry...!” He put his hands over his face and began to cry. Aziraphale stood there, stunned. Crowley was here, placing himself back in the firing line. Why would he do that? “Crowley, I…I don’t understand…”  
“Angel, why can’t you see how sorry I am!?” Crowley fell to his knees and wept. “I just want you back…I don’t care how much you hate yourself! I mean, that didn’t come out right! I’m sorry! I just mean, I’ll put up with it, you don’t have to push me away!”

Not worthy of him. Too cruel, too selfish, too bloodthirs-  
No. Don’t think about that. Think about this, right now. Crowley was, once again, blaming himself for what Aziraphale had done. And this was even worse. He was weeping on his knees, weak and vulnerable. “Crowley…don’t apologise. It’s my fault, entirely my fault. I’m the one who should be apologising. I pushed you away, I…”  
You don’t deserve him. Send him away. Don’t let him love you.  
“NO MORE!” Aziraphale roared at the air, his wings spreading. Crowley gasped and fell, backing away across the floor. “Aziraphale?”  
“I’m tired of hating myself, Crowley! I hate doing this to you, I hate doing this to myself, but I don’t know how to stop!”

Crowley stared up at him, utterly shocked. “I don’t know…I don’t know how to help you, but I’ll do anything I can…I promise you, I’ll be here for you through it all! I won’t shout at you, I won’t tell you to shut up, I’ll be there and I’ll comfort you…” Tears kept streaming down his face. Aziraphale took in the sight, and put away his wings away. He fell to his knees, then, and curled up on himself. “How…how can you stand me, Crowley…?”  
“Because…” Crowley crawled towards him and timidly took his hands. His touch was gentle and caring. “Because I love you, Aziraphale. I’ve always loved you. And now, now that we’re no longer employed by our former sides, we can be together! I want to be with you, Aziraphale. Forever. Don’t you know that?”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak. He wanted to express his immense love for Crowley in that moment. He wanted to pour it out of his own soul and into Crowley’s, so they could both feel it, together. But he couldn’t even speak. So he just went to Crowley instead, leaned his head against his shoulder and cried. Finally, after a long time, he could speak again. “I’m so tired, Crowley. I just want it to stop, so I can stop feeling guilty. So all I feel is…how I feel about you.” He held Crowley’s trembling hand to his lips, kissed it softly. He heard Crowley’s deep, slow breaths go faster. “And how…how do you feel about me?” He asked, shyly. Aziraphale chuckled. “Do I really have to say it?”  
“I’d like you to, but if you don’t want to, that’s ok-”

“I love you, Crowley. I’ve loved you for eons. I’ve only known since that night in the church. You remember? But I’ve loved you for so long now…” He gently cupped Crowley’s cheek, looked into his eyes, willing him to feel the love flooding his heart. And slowly, gently, their lips met. It was as soft as a morning mist, chaste and loving and sweet. They broke apart, both laughing in soft huffs of breath. They kissed again, deeper this time. It went deeper and deeper until they were both out of breath and had to take a break. Aziraphale fell against Crowley’s chest, and held on as if for his life. This was what he’d wanted for such a long, long time. And finally it was real. Crowley loved him. Truly. He could hardly believe that it was really happening.

Because you don’t deserve it.

Crowley must have seen the shift in Aziraphale’s expression, because he was kissing him again, ever so gently, and whispering to him. “It’s okay, it’s all okay. You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’m here. I’m here now, and I’m not going to leave you, not ever. I promise.”

The guilt never really went away. It was liable to come up at odd moments throughout the day. Like a subtle sting at the back of Aziraphale’s mind. But now, when he went down, Crowley was always there to pick him back up.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from L.D. Miller and Michael Kelsey's song 'It's Alright'
> 
> This is fairly long for me. I wish I could write longer fics but none of my ideas can go that far. So, as always, if anyone has a request, please do ask me!
> 
> Kudos and comments much appreciated! Critique welcome!


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